Dark Rooms

Chapter Eight

The residential home in Hove was a large, pleasant, double-fronted house with a small wooden sign saying HILLCREST — PRIVATE RESIDENTIAL CARE HOME. The pathway was immaculate, with beds of flowers either side. At the large glass double-door entrance was a wheelchair ramp and a tub of brilliant red geraniums.

Jane entered through the first set of glass doors into a small, tidy porch area. There was a printed notice stuck to the glass: PLEASE REMOVE ANY SANDY SHOES. Jane opened the door from the porch into a large reception area that had a thick floral carpet, two wingback chairs and a small carved wooden desk. The walls were adorned with beach prints and there were vases of fresh flowers on various side tables. There were further glass doors the other side of the desk leading into a corridor.

Jane approached the desk, which had telephones and a large leather diary on top, with a couple of filing cabinets behind. She was wondering if there was a bell for her to ring, when a smiling, rather plump woman appeared, wearing smart overalls with ‘Hillcrest’ embroidered on the breast pocket.

‘You must be Detective Inspector Tennison?’ she said, offering her hand.

‘Yes, that’s right. And you are?’ Jane shook her hand.

‘I’m Emily Thompson. Unfortunately, Miss Simmons, who is the main proprietor, has had to attend a staff meeting. But she asked me to be of every assistance to you. I believe that you’ve come to see Helena Lanark?’

Jane smiled. ‘Yes, that’s right. I do hope this isn’t an inconvenient time?’

‘Not at all. We have actually just finished serving afternoon tea, so I can take you straight through to her suite. If you’d like a cup of tea, I can ask one of the girls to bring it to you.’

‘No, thank you very much,’ Jane replied. ‘Miss Thompson, could I just ask you if Miss Lanark has many visitors?’

‘No, the only visitor she has on a regular basis is her lawyer, Mr Hadley, who is the most charming man and very protective of her. Her nephew occasionally comes to see her. Also, she has regular visits from a hairdresser and manicurist. I don’t know if you’ve been told that Helena is incommunicative.’

‘Incommunicative? Is she ill?’

‘It is an illness, yes... she has severe early onset dementia. But she is a very sweet-natured woman. We are very fortunate to have her,’ Miss Thompson replied.

Jane was led through the glass doors into a long, carpeted corridor. Everything about the place was immaculate. More seaside prints lined the walls and each of the freshly painted cream doors had a discreet nameplate at eye level.

Miss Thompson gestured to the doors as they walked past. ‘These are all private residents’ rooms, and now we are going into the area of private suites. These comprise a bedroom, an en-suite bathroom and a sitting room.’

Jane could only guess at how much this kind of residential home cost, but she was certain it would not be cheap. They turned right at the end of the corridor, into a thickly carpeted bay with French doors leading out onto manicured gardens.

‘We have a very good cook,’ Miss Thompson continued, ‘and three kitchen staff. We also have four nursing staff. And Miss Simmons is a highly qualified matron. She is very security conscious, and we have a security officer who watches the grounds. At Hillcrest, we are proud to be able to say that no resident has ever lost any personal item of clothing or jewellery.’

Jane was beginning to find Miss Thompson’s glowing recommendation of the care home a bit tedious. But it made her wonder exactly how much it cost and whether the proceeds from the sale of the Stockwell property were being used to pay for Miss Lanark’s care. She made a mental note to ask Mr Hadley.

Miss Thompson tapped on a door with number 12 on it. There was no answer, but Miss Thompson ushered Jane in ahead of her anyway. Jane was instantly impressed by the beautifully decorated and comfortably appointed room. It had a thick woven carpet, a chaise longue, a glass-topped coffee table and two elegant velvet-covered armchairs.

A bay window was on the opposite side of the room, with a modern desk displaying a spread of glossy magazines. On top of the pile was a large leather photograph album.

‘You asked if Miss Lanark had any photographs, so I believe this was put out for you,’ Miss Thompson explained.

She then gestured for Jane to sit down and opened a door to a bedroom.

‘Your visitor is here, Miss Lanark. Would you like your shawl around your shoulders? I see you finished all your tea... and you look lovely... I think your hairdresser does a really good job.’

Jane felt even more irritated by Miss Thompson’s manner, which made it sound as if she was talking to a child. Then a few moments later, Helena Lanark was wheeled into the room. Miss Thompson stopped beside the desk and applied the brake on the wheelchair. Over her arm hung a pale blue cashmere shawl.

‘I’m just going to put this on you, Miss Lanark.’ She deftly wrapped it around the frail woman’s shoulders, then hurried to close the bedroom door, smiling at Jane.

‘She does love her pale blue cashmere shawl,’ she said in a conspiratorial tone. ‘In fact, when she first came here we found out that she can only wear the purest cashmere, because wool irritates her skin. I believe these come from France. Are you sure I can’t get you a cup of tea?’

Jane shook her head, eager for the woman to leave. She drew a chair up to the desk. As the door closed behind Miss Thompson, Jane took the opportunity to have a really good look at Helena Lanark.

It was hard to determine how tall she was, as she was hunched over in her chair and seemed swamped by her quilted satin dressing gown. Her ankles were swollen, and she was wearing very expensive-looking fur-lined suede slippers. Her slender hands were folded in her lap, and she had beautifully manicured shell-pink nails. She was also wearing a gorgeous-looking string of pearls.

Helena Lanark had made no movement whatsoever whilst Jane scrutinised her, which Jane found rather unsettling. She inched her chair forwards to have a full view of the woman’s face. Her hair had been cut in a 1920s style, with a parting on her right side giving a thick wave of silver hair. Her thin-lipped mouth was tightly closed, but there was a small blob of saliva at the corner. She had a prominent nose, but nothing really prepared Jane for the astonishing colour of her eyes. They were an almost translucent blue, giving the impression that she could be blind.

Jane leaned further forward. ‘Miss Lanark, my name is Jane Tennison, and I am a detective inspector with the Metropolitan Police. I am making inquiries about a property in Stockwell that I believe you inherited from your father.’

There was absolutely no reaction. Helena appeared to be completely unaware that Jane was there beside her. Jane reached over to touch one of the pale white hands and it was only then that Helena recoiled. She moved her hand very slowly away, as if she didn’t like to be touched.

‘Did you understand what I just said, Miss Lanark?’ Jane asked. The only other indication that this woman was even alive was a little puff of air coming from her mouth that made the saliva bubble.

Jane glanced at her watch. This was about as unproductive as it could be, and it was looking as if she’d made a very long journey for no result. She could easily imagine how DCI Carter would react when she reported to him. She eased her chair back.

‘Miss Lanark, would you mind if I used your bathroom?’ As expected, there was no reaction to her request.

Jane walked through the door that led into the bedroom and the en-suite bathroom. The same thick patterned wool carpet continued throughout. The room was not exactly bare, but there was a feeling of emptiness. There was a neat chest of drawers with a mirror, but no cosmetics or brushes and combs. There was a matching wardrobe, and the single bed had a very expensive-looking pale green satin bedspread with a matching silk drape beneath.

The only indication that this bedroom was used by an invalid was the large orthopaedic pillow which had a pristine white cloth over it. There were two small cabinets either side of the bed and a jug of water with a glass beside it. There were no photographs, just two prints on the walls similar to the ones Jane had seen along the corridors. Jane eased open the wardrobe door. There were numerous silk blouses and pleated skirts, and two pairs of leather court shoes, one in black and one in navy. Jane could see from the inner sole that they were handmade. There was one dark navy coat, which had a protective plastic cover over the shoulders.

On the shelves inside the full-length wardrobe were neatly folded cashmere cardigans, all in various shades of blue. Jane closed the doors, then crept over to the dressing table. She pulled open one drawer after another, finding white linen nightgowns, pristine folded underwear and petticoats. All the items appeared to be hardly worn and were clearly expensive.

The small en-suite bathroom had a special raised step beside the bath and a white handlebar around it. The same handlebar was by the toilet and there was a red alarm cord hanging from the ceiling. Jane flushed the toilet before opening the bathroom cabinet. There was an array of vitamins, sleeping tablets and prescribed medication for arthritis as well as numerous hand creams, all with expensive labels. There was an ornate bottle of Floris Lily of the Valley perfume and Jane eased open the gold cap to smell it.

On the opposite side of the medicine cabinet was a glass shelf with a silver-backed hairbrush and matching comb, which had probably at one time been part of a set.

Jane went back into the sitting room, unable to tell if Miss Lanark had moved since she’d gone. She remained with her perfectly manicured hands folded in her lap and was gazing vacantly out of the window.

Without asking permission, Jane drew the large leather photograph album towards her.

‘Would you mind if I looked through your album, Miss Lanark?’

She responded with the same strange puff from her lips, as more saliva gathered at the corner of her mouth.

The leather-bound album was heavily embossed with gold filigree and there was a brass clasp but no key. Jane opened it up and on the first page was a framed sepia photograph of Charles Henry Lanark, Helena’s grandfather, wearing the uniform of a high-ranking army officer. With his clipped moustache and chiselled face, he had the same cold, arrogant stare as his granddaughter. According to the inscription in faded red ink, he had been killed in the First World War in 1918.

On the second page was a smaller photograph of Charles Henry Lanark Jr, dated 1917. He had a hooked nose and like his father he was wearing an army officer’s uniform. Over the page was a large sepia picture of the Stockwell property, dated 1923. Standing on the steps at the front door was Charles Henry Lanark Jr. Beside him stood a very pretty young woman in a bridal dress and underneath was written ‘Marriage of Charles Henry Lanark Jr and Muriel Petrukhin’. It was obvious that Muriel was very much younger, almost childlike in appearance. Before Jane could begin making notes, there was a knock at the door and one of the young carers stepped in.

‘So sorry for interrupting, but it’s time for Miss Lanark’s medication, and then the night nurse will come prepare her for bed.’

Jane looked at her watch. It was only a quarter past five and it seemed sad that they were preparing this woman for bed at such an early hour. As she was wearing a dressing gown and slippers, she more than likely had slept for most of the day anyway. Jane went to pick up her coat beside the photo album, then made a spur-of-the-moment decision: it was obvious Helena Lanark couldn’t tell Jane anything about the people in the album, and she probably wouldn’t miss it until Jane returned it. She deftly covered the large photo album with her coat, as she smiled at the young girl.

‘Thank you very much... I’ll be leaving now anyway.’ Jane looked at Helena Lanark and said goodbye, but there was no reaction. She didn’t see Helena’s lips turned down in a grimace as she closed the door.

As Jane was passing through reception, Miss Thompson was sitting at the desk. ‘I’ve had a very pleasant meeting, Miss Thompson, thank you.’

The woman gave her a quizzical look.

‘I doubt she would have said much to you... she rarely, if ever, speaks to any of us. But we do our best to make her as comfortable as possible, and as I mentioned to you earlier, her lawyer is a frequent visitor. He always expresses his thanks to us for taking such good care of her.’

‘How long has Miss Lanark been here?’

Miss Thompson shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m not exactly sure... she was here before I came, which was four years ago.’

‘Good heavens, that long. Was she previously more alert?’

Miss Thompson frowned, apparently disliking being questioned.

‘I’d need to check her medical records, but I would need permission to do so. I’m sure her lawyer could give you more information.’

‘I’ll contact him,’ Jane said. ‘Thank you again. I’m certainly very impressed with the facilities you provide.’

Jane hurried out and headed towards her car. She had only just started the engine when she saw Jason Thorpe driving into the parking area in a top-of-the-range BMW. He slammed the driver’s door closed and walked briskly into the care home. Jane patted the photo album on the passenger seat, eager to look through it when she got home.

No sooner had Jane arrived outside her house than Eddie turned up and parked his van behind her car.

‘I hope this isn’t inconvenient, but I’ve put together some costings for the work you were interested in... I just wanted to run them by you.’

‘Please, come on in,’ Jane said, pleased to see him. ‘I’ll make a cup of tea.’

Jane and Eddie sat in her kitchen as they discussed his proposals. She kept on adding more and more work that she wanted done until he leaned back in his chair, laughing.

‘Bloody hell! You virtually want the whole house refurbished! I’m going to have to talk to some mates to see if we can do it all.’

‘This is exactly what I want, and for it all to be done at the same time — but obviously you’ll know which jobs should be prioritised. I’ll leave it to you to give me estimates and a time frame of when you think you could start and obviously complete.’

‘Right, OK. I’ll talk it over with my dad tonight and maybe you should also give it some thought as it’ll be a big upheaval — unless you don’t intend to be living here when it’s all going on?’

‘Oh, I’ll be here,’ Jane said, ‘but I’ll be out for most of the day, so it won’t cause too much disruption. I can sleep in whichever bedroom you aren’t redecorating.’

Eddie stood up and reached for his jacket, which he’d left on the counter by the sink. He almost knocked the photo album onto the floor but caught it and grinned.

‘Family album, is it?’

Jane crossed over and took it from him. ‘No, it belongs to the family I was telling you about. I shouldn’t even have it, but I doubt anyone will notice it’s missing... well, I hope not, as I could get into trouble.’

She carried the album to the table and opened it, leafing through a number of pages, then turned to show Eddie.

‘The three sisters, Helena, Beatrice and Marjorie.’

The large black-and-white photograph showed three girls, one sitting on a swing, the other two standing either side of her. They were all wearing beautiful white dresses with white stockings and patent leather shoes, their long hair hanging down to their waists. Eddie leaned forward as Jane spoke.

‘They remind me of those old photographs of the daughters of Czar Nicholas... you know, the ones that were murdered in Russia?’

‘Yes, the Romanovs.’ Jane looked at Eddie in surprise.

He smiled. ‘I did O Level History, about Lenin and the Russian revolution.’ He tapped the photograph. ‘It’s obviously not quite the same period, though.’

‘I think this is Helena standing holding the rope of the swing, and Beatrice on the other side.’ Jane pointed to their innocent, unsmiling faces as Eddie peered closer.

‘She is very beautiful, isn’t she? The one on the swing?’

Jane nodded. ‘I think that would be Marjorie... You’re right, she is very pretty and obviously younger than the other two.’

Jane eased the photograph out of the album corners and turned it over. In very small, neat, handwriting were the words ‘Helena — Marjorie seated on swing — Beatrice holding swing rope which Marjorie used to commit suicide’.

Eddie leaned forward as she held it up.

‘Wow, that’s a bit shocking.’

‘Yes, very tragic, isn’t it?’ Jane slipped the photograph back into the album corners.

Turning another page over there were photographs of the girls as young children, then a full-size photograph of their father wearing a morning suit, standing in a rigid pose beside an exceptionally delicate-looking and pretty bride. Her veil was edged with roses and draped around her tiny satin Cuban-heeled shoes. But what made Jane look more closely was that the bride was wearing a rather elaborate tiara. Eddie noticed it too.

‘That looks like an expensive piece,’ he said, ‘if they’re real diamonds and drop pearls. You know the Romanovs had the most incredible jewels, and according to historians the Czarina Alexandra and her daughters sewed millions and millions of pounds’ worth of rubies, emeralds and diamonds into their corsets. They were never discovered, but that’s about all I can really remember because we then quickly went on to the Tudors. Just ask me anything about Henry VIII and his six wives!’ He laughed and then nodded at the photograph. ‘He looks twice her age.’

‘Yes,’ Jane agreed, ‘and quite formidable, by the expression on his face. She looks about sixteen, but you can see where her youngest daughter Marjorie inherited her looks from... those huge eyes and little cupid lips. Interesting, isn’t it? I went to visit Helena in a care home today. She’s very frail and suffering from dementia but she had the most vivid icy-blue eyes.’

Jane wanted to talk more but Eddie stepped back and checked his watch.

‘I’d better get going. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have all the costings done.’

He went to shake Jane’s hand, then at the last moment gave her a light kiss on her cheek instead. She was taken aback, and he flushed.

‘Anyway, see you tomorrow... I’ll let myself out, OK?’

Jane put her hand to her cheek as she heard the front door close, wondering what exactly had just happened. But soon the mystery of the Lanark family drew her back to the album and she found herself staring at the photograph of the three privileged young women in their immaculate white summer dresses. She was certain that one of them had given birth to the baby and had then buried it alive — but which one?